The Council of Seven
by Narn1
Summary: “She is gone.” Lirael said, her words falling heavily upon the room....Now, without Sabriel at her side, Lirael has to face her greatest challenge yet-The Seven Bells turned against her.
1. Sabriel's Death

The waters of the Fourth Precinct were chilled as ever. The river ran through, strong and enticing as it always did, waiting for some ill- prepared necromancer or Dead creature to fall victim to its pull. A single cloaked figure ran in from the Third Precinct, narrowly having missed the crashing waves that had been the doom of many. Coming to a halt, the figure brushed itself off with pale, gaunt hands. The hood of his cloak masking his features, the stranger walked briskly though the waters of Death to the center of the precinct, and quickly adopted a posture that indicated he was waiting for something. After a drawn out moment, two more figures, similarly cloaked, rushed in. These two went hand in hand, clutching each other tightly.  
  
"About time." the first figure said curtly, his voice cutting through the gray air. "We were held up." Responded an equally harsh female voice, coming from the shorter of the two newcomers.  
  
"Still no excuse, Terren." The first figure stated smugly.  
  
"Lay off her, Gahald." The female's companion interjected.  
  
"I don't recall asking for your input, Jakoli." Gahald hissed in response. Both figures' right hands reached to their sides beneath their dark cloaks, revealing blades hanging menacingly at their sides that stank of Free Magic. Oddly enough, none present seemed affected by the harsh metallic stench.  
  
"Come off it, would you?" Terren said, her tone gaining an edge of annoyance. She drew Jakoli's hand away from his blade as Gahald released his own.  
  
"Tell your lover to learn his place, Terren." Gahald said menacingly.  
  
"If you were to learn yours, he wouldn't have to." Terren responded, her eyes narrowing.  
  
"Well, well, well. . .at it already, are we?" a new female voice interrupted, as yet another cloaked figure entered the precinct. Gahald, Terren, and Jakoli nodded a greeting to their newest companion as she joined the small group in the center.  
  
"Hello Yuma." Terren said warmly, embracing the newcomer. The two women hugged as Jakoli and Gahald looked on in distaste. "Must you resort to such displays of affection in my presence?" Gahald muttered.  
  
"If it bothers you that much, then leave." Terren growled as she released Yuma.  
  
"Easy Terren. We all need to be present here, and we all have to get along. Can you please be civil to each other as long as we are here?" Yuma asked, her glance passing between Gahald and Terren.  
  
"When she shows the least bit of respect towards me, I will show her the same courtesy." Gahald said shortly.  
  
"Where are the others?" Jakoli asked, cutting off the last of Gahald's words. Yuma shrugged.  
  
"I entered alone. It's getting less and less safe to travel in groups, or even pairs." She observed, casting mild a glance towards Jakoli.  
  
"Our bodies are well protected, if that's what you mean." Terren said, spotting the jab at her and her lover.  
  
"I would hope so." Came a new voice, emanating from a figure just passing into the precinct. His tone dripping with amusement, the new figure brushed itself off.  
  
"Greetings, Inhur." Gahald said, his voice showing relief at this latest arrival.  
  
"It has been too long, my friend." Inhur said, approaching the group and shaking hands with Gahald.  
  
"Yes, but we are here now, and that is what matters." Gahald replied as he released Inhur's hand. All five cloaked figures present nodded their agreement. Unconsciously moving into a circle formation, they chatted quietly amongst themselves. Jakoli took a place next to Terren, Yuma next to Terren, Gahald next to her, and Inhur standing between Jakoli and Gahald.  
  
"Do any of us know where Fierra or Raen is?" Inhur questioned, his inquiry being met with a variety of answers that all translated simply to no. With these words, another figure entered the precinct, joining the circle with a muffled hello.  
  
"Greetings, Raen." Annet intoned.  
  
"Greetings. Make room for Fierra-she's on her way." Raen replied as the group widened, and a space formed between Inhur and Jakoli. As they did so, a final figure emerged, joining the circle quietly, without even a nod of recognition towards her companions. An air of ceremony suddenly permeated the small circle.  
  
"Let us begin." Jakoli said aloud, bowing in Fierra's direction. The latest newcomer bowed shallowly in return, and the small congregation of cloaked figures followed suit. Upon their rising, Fierra cleared her throat.  
  
"By the bells we are called, and by the bells we are here. Who is present?" Fierra called out in a powerful voice.  
  
"I, Terren, called by Ranna, am here."  
  
"I, Jakoli, called by Mosrael, am here."  
  
"I, Yuma, called by Kibeth, am here."  
  
"I, Inhur, called by Dyrim, am here."  
  
"I, Raen, called by Belgaer, am here."  
  
"I, Gahald, called by Saraneth, am here."  
  
"And I, Fierra, called by Astarael, am here."  
  
"All are present. Who now will speak?" Terren called out, directing her gaze to the water below her.  
  
"I will speak." Yuma said, voice brimming with confidence.  
  
"Speak your piece." Fierra said, nodding her approval.  
  
"We all know that us necromancers face difficult lives. Many amongst our number have been chased to the far reaches of death, all by two people in particular-The Abhorsen, and the Abhorsen-in-waiting."  
  
"Yes-our troubles can be blamed completely upon those two. What do you suggest we do about it, Yuma? It's not as if we can march right up to Sabriel, the Abhorsen Queen, and simply kill her." Raen stated matter-of- factly.  
  
"Companions," Yuma said coolly, directing her gaze towards Raen "The Abhorsen Sabriel is no longer a threat."  
  
"Do you mean to tell me that the legendary Sabriel is defeated?" Gahald chortled. Yuma nodded in response, and continued.  
  
"Constant voyages into Death have wrought their toll upon the Abhorsen Queen. This morning, she simply did not wake up." Yuma's report was met with surprise as well as relief. Fierra raised a hand, and the small group fell silent. Inhur continued, expanding on what Yuma had stated.  
  
"This means that Lirael, the Abhorsen-In-Waiting, is now the full fledged Abhorsen. She is newly come into her inheritance, and therefore, a vulnerable target."  
  
"This means that now is our opportunity to destroy the Abhorsen line; to prevent her and future Abhorsens from meddling in our work." Raen rationalized, speaking everyone's thoughts aloud.  
  
"So the time to strike is now." Gahald said simply. Fierra nodded.  
  
"We all know the rules-A warning, separation, and chances to destroy her based on your bell. Chosen one of Ranna first, the Chosen one of Morasel next, and so on and so forth. Let the warning commence." All of those present placed a right hand to their bandoliers, withdrawing the bell that had 'called' them. The dark wooden handles all matched, all reeked of Free Magic. Raising their bells above their heads in a sort of salute, then holding them out before themselves, the group rang their bells in synchronicity. The result was a loud, overpowering sound that seemed to shake the foundations of Death. It was the kind of noise that would shake absolutely anyone to their innermost core. Of course, not everyone would be able to feel this mighty toll-it would only be those sensitive to Death who would feel it's strength, particularly the Abhorsen. The small group stilled their bells after a moment, as they themselves recovered from the onslaught of power within that sound. It was Fierra who regained her composure first.  
  
"The warning is sounded. Who now dare stand against us?"  
  
* * *  
  
Meanwhile in Belisaere, Lirael stood next to Sabriel's limp body. Looking over the former Abhorsen, Lirael Goldenhand pursed her lips, placing a hand on her teacher and half-sister's forehead. Sameth, Touchstone, and Ellimere were gathered about too, their gazes flickering between the new and former Abhorsen.  
  
"She is gone." Lirael said, her words falling heavily upon the room. Touchstone bowed his head, and Sameth fought back tears.  
  
"You can go into Death, can't you? You could bring her back!" Ellimere spurted, looking at her aunt with fervent hope. Lirael looked up blearily at her niece, and shook her head.  
  
"I could, but I can't." She explained half-heartedly.  
  
"What do you mean? You're the Abhorsen-In-Waiting! You could save her!" Ellimere screeched, grasping at Aunt's right hand; the hand of gold and Charter Magic that Sameth had wrought for her years ago, after the binding of the Destroyer. Many long years had passed since then. Sabriel had aged gracefully, but age she did. Her long dark hair was now shot through with grey, as was Touchstone's. Both had seen much trouble over their reign over the Old Kingdom. Sameth had been treated well by time. He was growing into a strong, capable young man, worthy of his Wallmaker heritage. Ellimere had grown in to a tall, graceful young woman-she would make a wonderful queen upon Touchstone's death. Lirael had remained the same grim, war-like woman she had seen when she looked in the mirror at the Abhorsen's house, just after realizing her true heritage. Her features, now worn slightly by time in Death, were still exactly the same as they had been upon that fateful day. Now, regarding her niece with pity and sorrow, she shook her head.  
  
"Ellimere, I would like nothing more than to bring your mother back. I can't though. As the Abhorsen, it's my duty to uphold the balance between life and death. It was your mother's time to go, and you have to accept that. If I were to bring her back, I would be no better than the necromancers that your mother and I fight.fought." Lirael's voice trailed off as she finished, her gaze returning to Sabriel. The entire room fell silent for a moment as Touchstone leaned on his son for support. His grief- stricken face said more than any words could have. Ellimere broke the silence, releasing Lirael's hand.  
  
"Is there nothing you can do?" She asked softly. Pursing her lips once more, Lirael closed her eyes, focusing her death-sense. From what she could tell, Sabriel had not died long ago. Opening her eyes, Lirael nodded.  
  
"I can go into death, find her spirit. She should only be in the First Precinct."  
  
"What would you do?" Ellimere asked, her voice growing a little stronger.  
  
"Use Kibeth." Sameth whispered, his face and voice hollow. Lirael nodded yet again.  
  
"I can command her spirit to walk beyond the Ninth precinct, to not be hindered by anything along the way."  
  
"I think Sabriel would appreciate that." Touchstone said, his voice tired. Lirael regarded her brother-in-law sympathetically. She tried to find words that might soften the blow Sabriel's death had caused. Shaking her head, she came to the conclusion that any words she might have spoken would have probably done more harm than good. Lirael straightened up, removing her left hand from Sabriel's forehead. Closing her eyes once more, she felt for that familiar boundary between life and death. A Diamond of Protection was not needed-she was safe here in the Palace. She found the border quickly, and slipped through without much resistance. The next sensation Lirael experienced was the well-known tug of the river, and the low temperature of the water in which she stood. Placing her golden hand upon her bandolier, she drew Kibeth.  
  
"Where are you Sabriel?" Lirael whispered, scanning the river before her. A strange ripple from about ten feet ahead caught her attention. Wading forward, Lirael peered into the murky river, and spotted Sabriel's form beneath the water. Using her free left hand, she reached into the water and took hold of Sabriel's hand. Sabriel's eyes flickered open as she was pulled up, and smiled in recognition at her former pupil.  
  
"Hello, Lirael." The spirit said aloud, the sound dying nearly as soon as it came forth. Once Sabriel was standing upright, Lirael released her grip and smiled.  
  
"Hey Sabriel. Death treating you well?" She joked, her lips twisting in a sarcastic grin.  
  
"Can't complain-A lot different now that I'm actually dead. Come to see me off?" Sabriel grinned, pointing at the bell in Lirael's hand.  
  
"Yes. They.They all miss you, you know." Lirael said, her voice falling flat. An expression of sorrow passed across Sabriel's face. Lirael had to look away. She could only imagine Sabriel's grief at having to leave her family for good.  
  
"I know." Sabriel replied, downcast.  
  
"They'll be fine. You just get to the Ninth Precinct, alright?" Lirael said, feigning strength.  
  
"Promise you'll keep an eye on them all?" Sabriel implored, placing a hand on Lirael's shoulder.  
  
"I promise." Lirael stated, raising Kibeth. She focused her will into the bell, and rang it with all her might. Better to focus her will into a bell than her own regret. As she rang Kibeth, she spoke.  
  
"Go, Sabriel. Walk beyond the Ninth Precinct with all the speed you can, allowing nothing and no-one to stand in your way." Sabriel smiled weakly as she turned, and started her final journey through Death. Lirael stilled the Walker, and tucked it back into her bandolier. As she turned to leave, Death seemed to shake. A disharmony of notes was rocking the entire river. The strange noise came from bells-that was clear. The sound was overpowering, seemingly daring Lirael to do something about it. Sabriel's spirit, which was almost at the gate, fought against Kibeth to turn around.  
  
"CALL ME BACK!" Sabriel screamed, fighting the power of the Walker that now bound her. The sound stopped, seeming to have lasted an eternity. Drawing Saraneth quickly, Lirael rang the Binder, bending the power of the bell to calling Sabriel back towards her. Sabriel walked back towards Lirael, against the current, and stopped just before her.  
  
"What was that?" Lirael said, shaken by the strange, intoxicating power that the sound had held.  
  
"Bells. All seven bells and the stench of Free Magic." Sabriel muttered.  
  
"Necromancers." Lirael whispered.  
  
"But why would they ring all seven bells together in Death?" Sabriel asked uneasily.  
  
"This means that Death isn't safe." Lirael sighed, her grip on Saraneth growing tighter.  
  
"Death has never been safe, Lirael." Sabriel said off-handedly, glancing over her shoulder.  
  
"You need to go on your way, Sabriel." Lirael said softly, following Sabriel's gaze towards the First Gate. Switching Binder for Walker, Lirael rang Kibeth strong and true, and Sabriel began her final journey through Death yet again.  
  
"I'm sorry I can't help you." Sabriel called over her shoulder as she walked forward.  
  
"I know." Lirael grimaced, switching her bells once more.  
  
"Good luck, Lirael." Sabriel called out as she disappeared through the First Gate. A confused Lirael nodded in response, and exited Death as quickly as she had come. 


	2. The Abhorsen's House

Lirael's eyes flickered open, and as a reflex, brushed the frost from her eyelashes and hair. Touchstone and Ellimere looked on expectantly, while Sameth simply regarded the ground.

"You felt it too, didn't you?" Sameth asked softly. Lirael nodded, tucking a strand of her long dark hair behind an ear. Sameth still retained his Death Sense, and everyone there knew it. It wasn't far fetched for Lirael to assume that he had felt the power of the bells too.

"What do you make of it?" She asked, desperate for any theories. Sameth shrugged in response, looking up with a blank, sorrowful look upon his face. 

"Are you planning on sharing your secret with the rest of us?" Ellimere asked, annoyance at being left out tainting her tone. Lirael nodded apologetically, and began to explain.

"When I was in Death, something happened. Something that neither Sabriel or I had ever seen before."

"You mean you found her?" Touchstone asked hopefully, taking a seat on the bed next to Sabriel's body. Lirael nodded as she continued.. 

"Yes-she says she misses you all." She replied, forcing herself not to look Touchstone directly in the eye-the strange hope and burning need present there were too much for her to bear.

"Please, what happened?" Ellimere asked eagerly.

"All seven bells were rung." Lirael replied. Her words flung the room into an uneasy silence-all present remembered that time so long ago when they themselves did just that.

"The bells that were rung were infused with Free Magic." Lirael continued.

"Necromancers." Sameth concluded fearfully. Lirael nodded, her heart heavy.

"That means there's seven Necromancers, right? Seven bells, seven ringers. But why?" Ellimere inquired. 

"I don't know. You don't go ringing all seven bells all together for no reason, though-something is going on." Lirael stated, leaning against a nearby wall. 

"What are you planning to do then?" Touchstone inquired.

"I think I'm going to go back to the Abhorsen's House-There should be something there. A book, a record . . .anything.." She replied slowly, thinking as she spoke.

"We'll see you to your Paperwing." Touchstone said stoutly, straightening up and standing. Lirael followed suit, automatically adjusting her bandolier. Sameth stood up reluctantly, and opened the door nearby.

"I'm going to go make preparations for the announcement of Mother's passing." Ellimere said briskly, exiting the room. As Touchstone opened his mouth to say something to his daughter, Lirael shook her head.

"Let her go-she deals better with things when she's in control." She advised, compassion evident in her tone. Without a further word, Lirael herself took leave of the room.

A few moments later, Sameth, Touchstone, and Lirael were standing on an open stone platform-one of the highest points of the Royal Castle. In the center of this platform rested Sabriel's Paperwing, as well as Lirael's-a gift from the Clayr upon her becoming the Abhorsen in Waiting. Lirael climbed in her Paperwing, placing her trusty blade Nehima and her bandolier in the compartment to the side. Of course, it could be argued that her blade wasn't even Nehima. Though it still flashed ever changing messages (The one it currently bore was 'I am what was and what will be. Remember Nehima.'), it was still completely rewrought with the blood of the Great Charters, and the metal of the panpipes that Sameth bore for a time. It was still a blade however, and a good one at that. Placing her left hand upon a pouch at her side, she felt the familiar shape of the Dark Mirror and a small soapstone statue of a dog. Relieved to find them in their place, she smiled softly and waved goodbye to Touchstone and Sameth. Taking a deep breath, she could feel the Charter rising to her call-it was ready for her. With that, she began whistling the Charter Marks that would get the Paperwing flying. As she continued her strange tune, the Paperwing began to rise. Leaning forward, she placed her golden right hand upon the nose of the Paperwing. 

"Home." She whispered, her voice filled with the power of the Charter. The Paperwing seemed to understand, and turned to face southwards-towards the Abhorsen's House. After a brief pause, it started its long journey 'home'.

After a day or two of flight, the Paperwing began to descend towards the Earth below. Lirael sighed in relief. It was good to be home, regardless of the sorrowful circumstances that had brought her here. She had been at the Glacier visiting with the Clayr before she had gone to Belisaere. It had been awkward-as a sightless Clayr, the Abhorsen-In-Waiting, and a Remembrancer at the same time, she found it even more difficult to relate to her cousins now than she had as a girl. Receiving a message from Belisaere about Sabriel's death, she had left quickly. And now, here she was-Home. She had lived here at the Abhorsen's House since the binding of the Destroyer. Sabriel certainly had no need of the House-she lived up in the Palace with her own family. And now, she was dead. Lirael cringed at this thought as the Paperwing landed smoothly on the platform designed for it. Arming herself once more with both blade and bells, she climbed out of the Paperwing. There were two Charter sendings waiting there to attend to the Charter-spelled craft. 

"Saw me coming, did you?" She asked, watching as the sendings set to work, seemingly making a point of ignoring her. Shrugging, she set off through the rose garden towards the House. As she approached the Well, a strange tingling sensation ran through her. It had long since been closed up again by Sameth. He had forged brand new chains, and built a new lid. Neither spoke much about what had occurred down in that well, and no one really cared to ask. Pushing onwards at a quicker pace, she soon found herself on the North Lawn. Breaking into a jog, she was at the front door of the House within a minute. Opening the door, she stepped in, every part of her relaxing at the familiar sights, sounds, and smells that made up this place. As if on cue, three sendings rushed into the front room from the kitchen. Ushering her up the stairs ahead, they urged her onwards towards the third floor. Once they had arrived, another sending was waiting at her bedroom door. The three sendings that had brought Lirael up took their leave as the single sending waiting at the top of the stairs led her into one of the two bathrooms in the Abhorsen's Bedroom. A warm bath was waiting there, and Lirael had no aversion to stripping down to nothing and hopping in. The sending quickly set to work washing the exhausted Lirael from head to toe.

"I'm assuming diner is ready." Lirael sighed, not protesting as the sending roughly scrubbed at her right arm.

"Of course it is. You should learn to expect no less of the sendings." A familiar, acerbic voice stated. Peering over the side of the tub, Lirael spotted the form of a fluffy white cat wearing a red collar-without any bell.

"Nice to see you too, Mogget." Lirael grinned, splashing a little water at the once servant, now friend of the Abhorsen. Mogget hissed slightly, jumping out of the waters way.

"When I decided to remain with you after the Binding of the Destroyer, I expected better treatment than this, Lirael Goldenhand." At this, Lirael had to laugh. After the Binding, Mogget had decided of his own will to remain at the Abhorsen's house as a friend. Because he chose to do so, he no longer needed binding by any bell-simply a Charter spelled collar to keep him in a particular form-not the strange being of light that he truly was. He still retained his acidic tongue, but was undoubtedly a valuable resource.

"Calm yourself Mogget. I have news." Lirael said, sobering suddenly as she remembered Sabriel.

"Sabriel is dead." Mogget said casually. Lirael regarded the cat incredulously.

"How do you know? And how can you take it so lightly?" She asked, stunned.

"To answer your first question, word travels quickly. And as for your second, I have seen many an Abhorsen die-it is no new thing to me."

Shaking her head, Lirael regarded the cat once again as the Charter sending started to wash her hair. 

"I have more news than that, actually. I went into death to see Sabriel's spirit off. I'd found her spirit, and was going to send her off when both of us heard all seven bells, ringing together."

"Really now? Do elaborate." Mogget murmured as Lirael was dunked underwater by the sending in order to rinse her hair. Upon resurfacing, Lirael took a deep breath and continued her story.

"It was kind of like when we bound the Destroyer. It rocked the whole precinct-and I was only in the First. It felt far off, filled with Free Magic."

As the sending continued to wash Lirael's hair, Lirael watched Mogget as he puzzled over this new occurrence.

"It's obvious that something is happening. Has to be the work of necromancers-seven of them." Mogget mulled aloud. Lirael was dunked once more without struggle, and resurfaced quickly. Wiping her eyes, she spoke again.

"I figured all that. I thought there might be something in the library that could help me here."

Mogget looked on, slightly amused as the sending produced a large fluffy towel. Turning away as Lirael stood up and wrapped herself up, he started out the door.

"We'll go take a look after dinner. Get dressed and get down quickly-the food will get cold if you take too long." 

Rolling her eyes at the sarcastic feline, Lirael stepped out of the tub, the sulfuric fumes of the hot-spring water teasing her nose.

"Do you have fresh clothes ready for me?" Lirael asked the sending, picking up Nehima, her bandolier, and the small pouch that contained the Dark Mirror and the soapstone statue. The sending nodded in response, pointing towards the bedroom, where another sending was placing a fresh pair of black breeches, clean undergarments, a long-sleeved cotton shirt, and the familiar navy surcoat dusted with sliver keys. Drying herself off as she stepped out of the bathroom, she handed the towel to one of the two sendings present. She was dressed and down in the hall within two minutes. Mogget was already there, waiting impatiently.

"She's here now, you can bring the food," He instructed one of the attending sendings. In response, the sending bowed, and disappeared into the kitchen with a small number of its companions. They returned bearing two separate silver platters. Placing one before Mogget, and one before Lirael, they lifted the lids off of the platters and stood aside. Mogget had been served his traditional fish-today, poached. Lirael had been served a bowl of stew with thick chunks of beef, and a generously sized, fresh baked bun. A small pat of butter was to the side, as well as a spoon. As Mogget dove into his meal enthusiastically, Lirael picked at the stew, which tasted of various vegetables and herbs as well as beef-no rosemary. The meal passed in a thoughtful silence, and was over soon enough. As the sendings cleared the table, Mogget lept out of his place and began to trot out of the room. 

"To the reading room then," Mogget chortled as Lirael stood and followed him. While Mogget trotted up the stairs one at a time, Lirael took them two by two, and was already in the reading room before an obviously unamused Mogget arrived.

"Just because you have longer legs. . ." he muttered, hopping up on a plush chair near the bookcases.

"Come off it, Mogget, and help me out." Lirael responded wearily. Mogget sniffed indignantly, glancing towards the bookcases nearby.

"So what is it you're looking for?" Mogget asked. As Lirael took a seat on another chair, she pondered her feline companion's inquiry. 

"We don't happen to have any really dark, arcane books, do we? A guide for Necromancers?" Lirael asked, not really expecting an affirmative answer.

"The 47th Abhorsen-Kaylel-dedicated herself to the study of anything like that in order to be better prepared to face necromancers. She had one book of the sort that she valued right up there with _The Book of the Dead._" Mogget yawned, stretching out.

"The 47th Abhorsen-I've never heard much about her. Why?"

"She was killed as soon as she had trained her Abhorsen-In-Waiting," Mogget said bluntly, hopping out of his chair and strutting towards the bookcases that lined the room. Lirael was taken aback at this news. No wonder she hadn't heard much about this Kaylel-she hadn't been around long enough to do something worthy of remembrance. She sent up a silent prayer to the Charter that her ancestor's spirit was at peace.

"How did she die?" Lirael ventured to ask as Mogget paced to and fro along the bookcases, his tail twitching.

"In the midst of some arcane experimentation, she was slaughtered by a fell spirit she called forth-didn't even have her bells with her."

"Why not?" 

"Her bright idea was to call forth a spirit without the aide of her bells. It was a sound experiment theoretically, but stupid in practice. She's the closest thing to a black sheep the Abhorsen line has. Save myself, of course." He snickered, pausing at one shelf in particular. 

"Don't flatter yourself." Lirael grinned, joining Mogget near the shelf.

"Here it is." Mogget said, gesturing to a strange purple volume on the bottom shelf. Lirael crouched down to join Mogget, and took a closer look at this particular volume.

Lirael pulled it out, the soft texture of the leather binding pleasing against her fingertips. The title _Darker Purposes_ was emblazoned across the cover in fine gold print. Running her hand across the cover, she looked towards Mogget.

"This should be it. Thanks." 

"Don't thank me-thank Kaylel. Just a warning though-careful with that book. There's a reason it bears that name." Mogget advised as he left the room. Lirael sighed as she stood up and returned to her chair. Running her hand across the soft cover once more, she opened the purple volume. A strange wave of Free Magic swept throughout the room, and would have knocked Lirael off her feet if she had not been sitting in the first place. Shuddering, she opened the book to the first page. A fine, spidery scrawl and inscribed a message in the cover:

To Future Abhorsens;

You have my respect for showing an interest in the studies of Free Magic necromancers, and my congratulations for daring to open this book. Many have thought me crazy for supposedly studying the "Arts of the Enemy", but I believe that knowing what we face makes us stronger warriors of the greater good. Perhaps some ill fate is in store for me due to my chosen path-perhaps not. Regardless, it is MY path-perhaps it's yours too. Whatever protection or blessing I can bestow upon you, I do. Charter Keep.

Kaylel

By the time Lirael finished the note, she had developed a whole new image of her ancestor. From what Mogget had told her, she had envisioned a half-mad sorceress, hell-bent on discovering the secrets of the evil necromancers that were the enemy of her bloodline. But now, Lirael wasn't so sure. From what Lirael could tell from reading Kaylel's words, the 47th Abhorsen seemed like a confident woman, not afraid to defy convention-An Abhorsen truly concerned with the advancement of the understanding of what she fought against. What the truth was exactly, Lirael couldn't say. Regardless of what the truth was, Lirael found herself gaining a respect of Kaylel, and was looking forward to reading about her area of study. 

Opening the book, she began to read. Kaylel had made little side notes in the margins, defining words or paraphrasing what was written. The book itself was rather dry in tone, and Lirael found herself laughing under her breath at the droll wit that Kaylel injected into her notes. The hours passed by quickly as Lirael read further and further through the book. She soon found herself dozing off, purple volume open in her lap. 


	3. Meeting Ranna

~*~Author's Note~*~ Hey all, Narn here. Thanks for taking the time to read this story, and this chapter. As you all know, school's in session yet again, and I, unfortunetly, am a slave to the system. Please don't hate me, but the chapters will be coming a little more slowly now. I'm starting on chapter four, so please keep your eyes open and don't abandon me and my story. Take care, and Charter Keep.  
  
Lirael awoke with the first light of morning that poured through the Reading Room window. Groaning to herself as she stirred, she stretched upwards in an attempt to banish the kink that had developed in her neck as she slept. Sighing to herself as she realized that the kink would be around for a while, she stood up. As she did so, the volume that she had fallen asleep with fell to the floor. Cursing under her breath, she crouched down to pick it up. She had read the entire volume the previous night, and had come no closer to understanding the phenomenon that Sabriel and her had encountered. Still, she now possessed an intimate understanding of how to properly form her own band of gore crows, and could now consider herself well versed in the art of Hand construction. Retrieving the volume, she placed it upon the chair on which she'd spent the night. Standing up to her full height, she stretched again, instantly regretting it. A sending in a crimson cowl entered the room, bowing low before directing Lirael towards the staircase, and in turn towards the Hall. Mogget was already waiting at the long dining table when Lirael arrived as the red garbed sending took its leave.  
  
"Good morning." Mogget grinned, licking his chops for no apparent reason.  
  
"And what's got you so pleased?" Lirael inquired as she took her seat.  
  
"A message hawk arrived at dawn with a message from Qyrre. The thing was half-mad by the time it got to the House. Screaming something about a band of hands attacking."  
  
Lirael sighed as the sendings came out bearing covered trays. "The Abhorsen will take her breakfast to go." Mogget snickered.  
  
It took less than ten minutes for Lirael to be seated in the Paperwing, and ready to go. She had been garbed in a coat of gethre, and armed with her trusty blade Once-Nehima as well as her bandolier. The sendings had prepared a journey sack for her, stuffed with rope, knives, bread, cheese, and a whole plethora of other items that might be of use. Mogget sent along his best wishes, whatever that was worth, and three Charter Sendings had just finished readying the Paperwing for flight. Closing her eyes, Lirael felt for that constant, steady flow of existence that she knew so well. With the purpose of flying the Paperwing in mind, the necessary marks came quickly to her call. Opening her eyes, she released them as she whistled. The marks seemed to set gleefully to their task, settling into the very marrow of the craft Lirael sat in. It was almost as if the Paperwing took a deep breath as the marks took root, and exhaled as it rose gently from the ground.  
  
"To Qyrre." She whispered to the craft, placing a hand upon the Paperwing. She felt a tingle surge through her-the Paperwing was acknowledging her request. The Paperwing rose even higher, then took off in a northeasterly direction across the crisp morning sky. As the Paperwing flew straight and true, seeking out it's destination like a dog might track a sent, Lirael reveled in the cool morning air. She'd never gotten tired of flying, and doubted she ever would. As a matter of habit, her left hand went to the pouch at her side. Soothed by the familiar shape of the soapstone sculpture and the Dark Mirror under her fingers, she relaxed a little. Calling upon the Charter once more with a whistle, she raised a wind to carry her to Qyrre. Judging from the strength of the Charter Wind she'd conjured, she calculated her arrival at Qyrre to be in a little over two hours.  
  
"Too long." She muttered, reaching into her journeysack for something to eat. Pulling out a hunk of what looked to be a rye bread, she broke a piece of a softer cheese from the wheel provided, and slapped it atop the bread. Chewing contentedly at her makeshift breakfast, she regarded the landscape below her. Her course lay along the mighty Ratterlin, and it glinted like precious gems in the pale morning light as she flew above it. As she flew onwards, a mountain range appeared to her left. Lirael adjusted her course to fly closer to the Ratterlin, flying alongside the mountains as opposed to over. The air grew warmer and warmer the further she went, as the morning blossomed in all its glory. Two hours later, as she had predicted, Lirael saw the village of Qyrre below. Her Paperwing started to descend in a gentle slope that made the most of the thermals it was riding, as well as keeping Lirael comfortable. As she and her craft drew closer to the ground, Lirael's suspicion was aroused. There were no Hands that she could see. A small crowd was gathering near the center of the town, waving frantically at the Paperwing. With a nudge at the craft, it comes in for a final landing right near the small group of citizens. Their eyes were wide with fear-they had seen things they would rather forget.  
  
"Oh, Abhorsen! Forgive us! Please!" One of the villagers cried, throwing herself at the ground before the Paperwing. Confused, Lirael strapped on her bells and Once-Nehima before exiting the Paperwing. A quick pat at the pouch at her side went unnoticed by the townspeople. Lirael tried to ignore the fact that her title now was missing the "In-Waiting" that she had borne for so long.  
  
"Where are the Hands?" Lirael asked, pulling the woman to her feet. The villagers gathered exchanged apprehensive glances before facing the new Abhorsen. A man looked down towards the ground before speaking.  
  
"There are none."  
  
"What do you mean?" Lirael inquired, startled. "The woman-she was a Necromancer. She forced us to send you a message-hawk . . . she said she wanted you here as soon as possible. She told us what to say." The woman on Lirael's arm sobbed. Those gathered nodded their agreement, offering their own details.  
  
"She said she would kill us all if we didn't!"  
  
"She threatened to destroy our city!"  
  
"She was going to call up all sorts of horrid dead things unless we got you here!" Lirael took the distraught woman into the crowd, pressing her into what she presumed was her husbands outstretched arms. Thinking quickly, the Abhorsen pressed the villagers for more information.  
  
"Is she still here?" Nods, and affirmative exclamations.  
  
"Where is she?" Incomprehensible chatter, and fingers pointed towards what looked to be a fisherman's hut. Leaving the crowd behind her, she walked towards the hut while drawing out Saraneth. Creeping silently up to the door, she pushed it open, cringing as it creaked. She had now lost any advantage she may have had. The Necromancer would already be aware of the fact someone was coming, and probably would have already drawn a bell. Opening the door further, heedless of the creaking, Lirael stepped into the house. Her nose twitched as a familiar scent assaulted her nostrils-the scent of Free Magic. There was a combined sitting room and kitchen before her, and a hall beyond that appeared to lead to a bedroom. Stepping cautiously through the sitting room, she approached the closed bedroom door. Turning the knob with as much care as she could manage, she took a deep breath before pushing it open.  
  
"I wondered when you'd arrive." A pert female voice commented, its source a dark-robed woman sitting on the bed. The hood of her cloak was down, revealing pale skin and softened features, as well as dark hair and eyes. Her hair cascaded in limp ringlets about her shoulders. She appeared to be about Lirael's height, and bore a twisted, Free Magic version of Ranna. As Lirael moved to ring Saraneth, the Necromancer before her sounded Ranna with a snide smirk.  
  
"Aren't you feeling a little tired, Lirael?" She inquired as the Abhorsen stifled a yawn and dropped her Binder. The gentle pealing of Ranna coaxed Lirael to sleep, it's lullaby soothing to the ear. Lirael forced herself to keep her eyes open, yet the more she struggled the stronger Ranna's pull became.  
  
"They call me Terren." The Necromancer smirked, her bell still exerting its pull over Lirael. "I'm a part of a very, very important group. One that will see you dead." Lirael remained silent, still struggling against the sweet temptation of Ranna's call. "I intend to finish you off right at the start." Terren said casually, as if she were discussing something of no more consequence than the price of lemons in Belisaere. With a final peal of the Sleeper, Lirael found herself closing her eyes. Her mind protested this with all its might, fought it with everything it had, yet Lirael's body wanted nothing more than to submit to Ranna's will. As soon as her eyelids fluttered shut, Lirael found herself asleep, yet aware. She was dreaming, and she could see everything about her in perfect detail. It was a large green meadow, filled with wildflowers painted with every color imaginable. Crimson, gold, blue, and orange flowers flitted in the gentle breeze about her. Two figures stood in the distance-two tall, blonde, blue-eyed figures garbed in the robes of the Clayr.  
  
"Sanar? Ryelle?" Lirael called out, unsure of what to make of it. She approached the twins, who looked at her in disgust.  
  
"Filthy, Sightless Clayr." Sanar sniffed.  
  
"Disgrace to the Sisters." Ryelle nodded in agreement. Lirael stood dumbstruck, her mouth hanging open. The words just spoken had been like slaps across her face, as well as numerous jabs at her stomach with freshly sharpened knives. The twins turned away from Lirael, walking away across the meadow, disappearing with a ripple of the air. As the twins left, Sameth rippled into existence. Looking towards Lirael with an apathetic look on his face, he shook his head.  
  
"I'd probably make a better Abhorsen."  
  
"Lirael?" Came a voice from behind her. It was somehow familiar, but Lirael couldn't quite place it. Whipping about, she gasped. Right before her stood her mother, a hopeful look upon her face. As Lirael turned fully about to face the mother she never really knew, Arielle's face fell.  
  
"How could I love you?" She cried aloud, disappointment molding her features..  
  
"Mother?" Lirael choked out in a small voice. This.this wasn't right! Sanar and Ryelle told her that she would always be a Sister, sightless and all. Sameth respected her! They were friends! And her mother. . . her mother loved her! She did! She had said so! As these thoughts streamed through her head, she forced herself to disbelieve what was being presented before her. This wasn't right. This couldn't be real! Suddenly, the meadow flickered out of existence, and Lirael found herself back in the small bedroom, facing the Necromancer who called herself Terren. A look of shock spread across the woman's face as she watched Lirael awaken from her nightmare. Before Lirael had recovered her wits enough to draw a bell, her opponent had already rung Sleeper once more. The familiar call of Ranna's lullaby echoed through Lirael's mind. Her eyelids began to flicker shut again despite her mind's protest, and Ranna crowed her victory-or was it Terren laughing? It was hard to tell. She was so tired. She just had to sleep for a little while. Just a quick nap, that was all.  
  
"NO!" Lirael screamed, forcing all of her will and being to keep her eyes open. It was much like focusing her will into a bell, only this was much more difficult. With the bells, Lirael was always in control. Right now, she was clearly not in command. The gentle lullaby of Ranna faltered for a moment, almost as if the Sleeper was taken aback by this struggle against her call. In that moment, it was just Lirael alone in the blessed silence. As abruptly as it had stopped, the Sleeper's call came again. It was too late however-that moment was enough for Lirael to garner some strength. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Lirael to open her eyes fully. Perhaps it was simply Lirael's imagination, but she could have sworn that Ranna's song became more frantic as her eyelids opened wide, revealing Terren, and the bedroom. Terren's look of shock had set into one of determination as the Necromancer rose to face the Abhorsen. With another peal of her bell, Terren grinned smugly. Lirael extended a quivering arm, wincing with the effort it took to do so. Fighting off Ranna, she reached for Once-Nehima, her eyes threatening to close once more. Just a little longer, she told herself. Just hold on a little longer. As her hand settled upon the hilt of the Charter Marked sword, her eyes shot open. The sensation of the Charter Marked sword beneath her hand sent a course of strange, invigorating energy through her. She was awake . . . alive. With this newfound energy, Lirael threw herself into the unending oblivion of the Charter. Bathed in its warm glow, she drew Once-Nehima and took one wild slash at the Necromancer. In that moment, everything seemed to slow down. Every sensation became heightened, and Lirael found herself aware of every single movement she made. It wasn't only a single movement, but thousands of tiny movements all encompassed in one. The beating of her heart, ever muscle shifting to her will, the cool Charter Marked steel coming into contact with Terren's neck, each tendon in the Necromancer's neck beings severed. As the blade completely detached Terren's head from her body, time righted itself. Lirael gasped as she sucked back more air than she ever had in her entire life, falling to her knees with Once-Nehima still in her hand. Terren's body lay broken on the floor, the blood pouring forth from her disjoined neck. Her head lay lifeless a few feet away, eyes glazed and unseeing. With a final gasp, Lirael forced herself to rise. Slowly tilting her head to the side, she looked down at the slain Necromancer. She took in a long deep breath, and turned away in disgust to go face the villagers who had called her here. 


	4. Dealing with Terren

A wave of cheers greeted Lirael as she stumbled out of the hut. Clutching Once-Nehima tightly, she stood up as straight as she could manage, pushing her way through the adoring crowd that mobbed her.  
  
"Charter bless you, Abhorsen!"  
  
"Thank you Abhorsen! Thank you!"  
  
"You've saved us all!" Nodding and smiling weakly at the villagers, Lirael continued to push through until she reached her Paperwing. She sat herself down with a loud sigh, and tucked her blade into the pocket at the side. She reached to remove her bandolier, but paused for a moment, looking down at the bells beneath her fingers. Her fingers grazed Ranna, settling on the age-smoothed wood of its handle. Pursing her lips, she looked up towards the villagers gathered about her. They all regarded her in awe, hanging off her very presence, every breath she drew. Exhaling, Lirael looked back towards Ranna before speaking.  
  
"Bring me her bandolier. Don't touch any of the bells." She instructed. As her voice fell to silence, two of the villagers ran off to do as she had asked.  
  
"And what of her body, Abhorsen?" One voice piped up above the steady hum of the crowd's chatter. Lirael looked towards the source-a tiny girl of no more than 14 years with dark hair, and even darker eyes. The Abhorsen opened her mouth to speak, but what words she intended to say died in her throat. This child looked exactly like she had at that age. With a slight cough, Lirael remembered her place. She was no longer that awkward, sightless daughter of the Clayr. She was the Abhorsen, and respected by all of the bloodlines, regardless of what twisted versions of the truth Ranna had shown her.  
  
"Burn it." She said bluntly. "Burn it on a bed of Rowan branches, and make sure all present are wearing silver." The crowd all nodded simultaneously, taking in these instructions. If they understood the significance of Lirael's words, they gave no sign save wide- eyed adoration. It was at that moment that the crowd began to part, making way for something. As the crowd divided, the cause of their actions was revealed. They were parting to make way for the two villagers who had gone to retrieve the Necromancer's bandolier. They clutched nervously at either end of the leather band, careful to follow the Abhorsen's instructions about avoiding the bells. They gingerly handed off the bandolier off to Lirael, who noted their pale faces. Part of her wanted to offer them a reassuring smile, but a larger part of herself stopped her. She consoled herself by mumbling a quiet thanks as she tucked the bandolier into yet another hidden pouch aboard the Paperwing. With a final scan of the villagers, she motioned for them to back away from her craft. They obeyed, and Lirael closed her eyes. It took hardly any effort to throw herself into the ceaseless current of the Charter, and she had to fight off the temptation to simply float away and never come back. The Carter Marks she needed came quickly to her call, as if they expected her. Settling them into her mouth, she took a deep breath and launched them all out with a sharp whistle. The Marks set to their work without question as Lirael set to creating a Charter Wind to carry her out of there. Her next destination was unknown to even herself. All she truly cared about was that she was away from this village, and the strange, dark presence of the now dead Necromancer. As she completed the spell-song, the Paperwing began to glide forward slowly, lifting off the ground as it picked up speed. The manufactured wind caused Lirael's hair to flutter behind her as she reached an altitude of thirty-five feet from the ground. Her internal compass told her she was heading Northeast, towards an area known as the Great Sickle Wood. She recalled having traveled that way once or twice before, on business with Sabriel. Lirael remembered little of the area save the impression it had left on her-the sheer size of the trees had been mind blowing. The leaves and branches had seemed to sway with the breeze in a constant dance of life that almost seemed to rival the Charter in its glory. For some reason that Lirael could not quite place, she allowed the Paperwing to continue it's flight towards the woods, already making plans to land in the middle in order to pause and reflect. A shiver ran through Lirael's spine as she looked back towards the village rapidly disappearing behind her. Unpleasant memories of the Necromancer Terren, and the distorted visions displayed by the Free Magic version of Ranna came flooding back. Lirael bit her lower lip hard as she forced her attention back towards the horizon ahead. She couldn't remember exactly how far away the Great Sickle Wood was, just that it lay somewhere beyond that skyline.  
  
Thirty miles, and a little over half an hour later, the Great Sickle Wood became visible to the very tired and shaken Abhorsen. Responding quickly to Lirael's touch, the Paperwing began to descend crisply towards the forest. The trees were dense, but not so dense that the Paperwing wouldn't be able to slip between them. Sliding in amongst the trees, the vessel slowed as it wound it's way about the trees. Lirael breathed in deeply as she ventured further into the woods. The air here was crisp and clean, a joy to inhale. This was a good a place as any to stop and rest, she decided. As the thought ran through Lirael's head, the Paperwing landed itself. Once it had come to a complete halt, she rose and strapped Once-Nehima about her waist. Stepping cautiously out of the Paperwing, feeling for the small pouch at her side out of habit before sitting down with a defeated moan. It was only now, away from Qyrre and its inhabitants, that she could address exactly what had happened. Closing her eyes, Lirael leaned back against a particularly majestic tree as she tried to recall exactly what had occurred. The more she tried to focus, however, the more she realized that she didn't really want to. The strange apparitions of her friends, her family. . . all displeased with her, all angry. None of it seemed at all fair or right to Lirael, so why was it all happening? She sighed to herself as the response came to her. No one ever said life was fair, least of all the life of the Abhorsen. A better question was why was she behaving like this? This was her calling. She had faced Necromancers before, why should this one be treated any differently because it had managed to find Lirael's weakness? It was no longer a concern. Its spirit was on its way through death, and its body would hopefully be nothing but ashes by now. Gathering some strength from these thoughts, she opened her eyes and stepped away from the tree. Doubts still lingered however, and Lirael searched for some way to assuage her fears. A gentle breeze rippled through the woods, tousling her surcoat. Automatically, Lirael reached to smooth the tunic out. As she caught sight of her pale, slender hands, the answer came to her. She would go into death and call upon the Necromancers spirit. She would know the truth, and put this uncertainty behind her. Reaching towards the Paperwing, she drew out her bandolier. She would be a fool to proceed with this plan unarmed. Strapping on both sword and bells, she put herself into the proper mindset for crossing over. Closing her eyes once more, she felt for that well-known boarder between life and death. Lirael found it easily, as only one who was truly accustomed to the River could. Glancing around, she drew out Saraneth while placing a hand to her sword. Sounding the Binder into the silence of the river, she called out in a strong voice as she could muster.  
  
"Terren-Once Necromancer, servant of Free Magic. By Saraneth I call you forth to me, Lirael-the Abhorsen, servant of the Charter." A disturbance in the water drew Lirael's attention forward and to the left. A dark-robed figure, sporting dark curls and spiteful eyes stood up, reaching for a bandolier that was no longer there. Upon this discovery, Terren looked up scornfully at the Abhorsen.  
  
"What is it you want, Lirael?" Terren spat, uttering her name like a curse.  
  
"I'd ask you now if I weren't so sure you wouldn't aide me." Lirael replied, exchanging Saraneth for Belager. As if by it's own will, the Thinker resonated throughout the precinct. Terren cringed as the sound reached her ears. Falling to her knees, she clasped her hands against either side of her head in effort to keep the sound away. The bidding of the Thinker was not so easily ignored. Gradually, her hands came away from hr ears and hung at her sides. Rage twitched at her face, but Terren had no control anymore.  
  
"Tell me, Terren . . . you seemed to take great pleasure in bringing up bad memories, and creating lies and fiction where you saw fit."  
  
"I can't exactly do that anymore, can I?" She shot back.  
  
"No. And the world's a better place for it." Terren had no reply to this. "I'm more interested in why than anything." Lirael continued. "Why did you choose my doubts and insecurities as a medium for my destruction?" A moment passed in which the former Necromancer struggled against the unseen hold of Belager, unwilling to relinquish the information without a fight. The will of the bell won over that of the woman in the end, and Terren was left with no choice but to answer.  
  
"They were the quickest, easiest way. Drive you mad, and then destroy you and the Abhorsen line forever. That was the plan . . . my plan at least. It appears that it didn't work so well." Lirael's curiosity was piqued by those words-mine at least? What was that supposed to mean? Something bordering on familiarity, a memory on the verge of breaking through, tugged at the Abhorsen's psyche. What was it that Terren had said when she caught her off guard with Ranna? It came in a flash, a memory in its purest form. i"They call me Terren." The Necromancer smirked, her bell still exerting its pull over Lirael. "I'm a part of a very, very important group. One that will see you dead."/i A group? What group? Focusing her will back in to the bell in hand, Lirael spoke again.  
  
"So you're not the only one trying to kill me."  
  
"Brilliant deduction. Now let me guess your next inquiries. What is this group? What are our intentions? And what can you do to stop us?"  
  
"You're not bad at this deduction thing yourself. Start answering." Terren managed to throw a haughty sneer at Lirael before Belager forced her response.  
  
"We are the Council of Seven." She began, her voice brimming with obvious pride. "We will see the Abhorsen line destroyed. There is nothing you can do to stop us." Lirael noted the confidence in her voice, and the way in which she answered the questions in the most evasive, least wordy manner possible. She also noted that through her words, Terren still counted herself a member of the council.  
  
"You're very clever." Lirael said, a combination of admiration and pity making up her tone. Terren simply looked confused, unsure of what to make of this all. With a deep breath, and a final force of will, Lirael asked her final question.  
  
"If you were in my position, what questions would you ask in order to learn everything about the Council of Seven?" Terren's look of confusion gave way to one of horror. She had been outsmarted, and now had no choice but to answer the Abhorsen. Her eyes hardening, she answered in a cool, metallic voice.  
  
"I would ask what rules we follow, what limitations bind us."  
  
"Tell me then." Lirael encouraged, her own will added to by the strength of Belager. A look of pure hatred was her response, followed by cutting words.  
  
"Each member has been called by a bell. Each member gets an opportunity to destroy you, starting with the member called by Ranna, and so on until the member called by Astarael. Each member is only permitted to use the bell that has called them against you." Satisfied, Lirael silenced the Thinker. This new information gave her much to think upon. First, however, she had to deal with Terren's spirit. Exchanging Belager for Saraneth once more, she rang the larger bell with all the strength her will could manage.  
  
"Listen, Terren, and listen well. With Saraneth as both medium and witness, my will is now your one and only law. Hear my will now-you will walk through the nine precincts allowing nothing in all creation to stand in your way. You will walk further than you have ever done before, and you will face the stars beyond the eighth gate for the first and final time. Beyond the stars, I release you from my binding. From there, you will face your end, or whatever else may be there, alone." As Lirael finished her binding-spell, she silenced Saraneth and tucked it back into her bandolier. Her face showed no pity, and neither did her words. As Terren rose to continue her journey through death, Lirael added one more detail.  
  
"And may the universe have mercy on your soul." Before Terren could reply, Lirael had already turned away and exited death. Biting her lip as she took a few more steps, the former Necromancer cast her own blessing of sorts out there into the vast nothingness of Death.  
  
"And on yours, Abhorsen . . . and on yours." 


End file.
